The machines of order on parade: lawnmowers and leafblowers,
the wasted water for a pristine spread of herd fodder
: the stage for regimented hedgerows and orderly flowers, encircled
The self-appointed yard monitors on the right report disorderly vegetation in the backyard
where a cadre of reptiles and several large mammals, including a
were witnessed exiting the overgrowth
; the neighbors on the left always have a plethora of vehicles parked about; the little yapping dogs
that escape, and the blue-tick hound
easily agitated by any noises in the night.
The trashman comes on Wednesday to claw-lift the receptacle and slam it back down
out of place on the street; various escaped refuse pieces
flee to other yards downwind;
the eeyorish mailman forlorn, never smiling, looks up and sighs in frustration
: another book must be door-delivered
– no one can read this much.
The various octogenarians with daily constitutionals
— the reaper skipping behind,
whistling the Andy Griffith Show;
the old guy on the bicycle; the one that runs; two or three Michelinmorphs
; not too many young people
: all of the time in the world;
the four people that walk the dogs, excreting on the grassy median that
sometimes becomes a minefield of ground-bees
swarming in the swelter, the little clay nests like anthills.
Across the street, a grandfather putters around, daily landscaping in slow-motion,
staying busy consistently, continuously
: don’t even think about sitting in the rockingchair.